


So Long as Men Can Breathe

by crazinaway



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazinaway/pseuds/crazinaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of four seasons, two boys, and one love to bind them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Long as Men Can Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. I own neither that nor Glee.

There's a day, sometime in the beginning, when they're tangled together on a couch with their ankles crossed together and a bowl of fruits by their side and a poetry book laying between them; it's that day when Kurt licks the sticky juice off his fingers and Blaine thumbs the pages and he reads aloud, "S _hall I compare thee to a summer's day?_ ", then grins at Kurt brightly, eyes wide and crinkled and adoring.

Kurt, in return, rolls his eyes fondly and shakes his head at the ridiculousness that forms who Blaine is, then leans forward and presses their lips together, sweet and damp, a reply standing on its own with no words needed.

 

 

*

 

Blaine is autumn in the way he behaves and the way he talks, the things he likes and the time he was born. Blaine is the cooling after a period of heat, the one to calm down and explain -- and Blaine, he can be cold, cool and collected and knowing what to do, offering advice and a helping hand from an emotional distance almost impossible to see; but Blaine, he’s also flaming-hot, because when he snaps he does so all the way, the atoms of his body seemingly breaking away and letting him yell and punch and fume.

But Blaine is mostly comfortable, level-headed; he’s unpredictable at times, but not overly so -- he’s a guy of thick scarves looped tight around necks, a guy of frost biting red at high cheeks, a guy to sit for hours by the big window in the living-room in soft pajamas, watching the falling leaves painting the ground in the colors of fire with his palm pressing into his face.

Blaine loves the autumn -- he loves the smell of the street right after it rained, loves the sight of the clouds that tell him it’s about to snow, soon, in a few weeks; he loves Halloween, loves putting on a costume and being able to be silly for a day without being judged. He loves the autumn’s colors, sometimes bright red and sometimes a mellow orange, loves the way almost all the colors can fit into one season because Blaine loves thinking of life as one big canvas.

Blaine loves the sight of the setting sun lighting everything in a soft saffron color, loves the chilly air in the early, early morning, loves the smell and the sight of the world. He loves hot drinks on the couch with the mug warming his hand, loves the feel of sweaters against his skin with no need of jacket above them, loves the way the season appears to be fitting for whatever kind of activity he’s planning.

Blaine is autumn, an autumn baby in heart and soul, the way he walks and talks and behaves; he loves autumn and everything it entails, and he’d live a thousand more autumns, if he could. 

 

*

 

Kurt is winter, in the façade he shows to the world and his unwavering stare; is winter in his ice-cool eyes and measured steps, in his love for too many layers of clothing covering his body and his obsession for vintage scarves. Kurt is winter in the way _he_ sees winter -- because he knows people generally see winter as the dead season, where nothing grows, but Kurt couldn’t disagree more. For Kurt, winter is the most lively season of the year, with its beautiful flowers and virginal grounds, when the muddy brown is covered with a thick layer of pure-white snow. Kurt is the winter in that way, because when people look at Kurt they see his sarcastic words and closed-off attitude, see his walls and his shields and his distance -- but inside, if you look closely, Kurt is alive and loving, just like winter.

Kurt is the raging storm overtaking everything – passionate and out of control, a force of nature that cannot be stopped, that paints the sky and the ground and the sea. He doesn’t do anything halfway, doesn’t know how to achieve things step-by-step; when he sets his mind on completing a task, he does – completely and fully, because he’s a perfectionist, he loves things big, unmistakable and seen from miles away.

But Kurt, he’s also the icy ground on a cold morning, the mornings when he tells his dad they need to change tires so they won’t slip, when he has to wear three sets of socks so his toes won’t freeze. And later, he’s the long coats brushing against strangers’ calves and the zipped up jackets he loves dearly, protecting the passerby from the wind and the snow, keeping them warm. He’s in that quiet, the silence of winter – he’s passionate, yes, but sometimes he has to close himself off to the world so he can breathe, has to collect his thoughts even if it takes sitting alone in the corner of the room. He watches, says no words – but he’s present, like the ice of the ground, the one that doesn’t make a sound but is constantly on everyone’s mind, even if they are unaware of it.

Kurt loves everything about winter, in Ohio and New York and everywhere else he goes. He loves the fashion, the boots it takes him hours to lace and the hand-knitted gloves he buys, loves the way the snow sinks under his feet and the sigh of relief he lets out when he escapes from the biting cold to a warmed building. He loves the well-rested feeling he has when climbing out of bed with three thick duvets trailing after him, and he loves Christmas, the red and the green of the world, the tree decorating his living-room and his family, surrounding him everywhere.

Kurt is winter in everything he is and everything he will be, the things he presents to the world and the things he keeps to himself. He loves winter, loves everything about it, and is ready to spend the rest of his life waiting for that same period every year.

 

*

 

The two of them, together, are like spring; blooming and growing, like life, like the trees in Kurt’s garden that cover themselves in color and flowers, like the grass that grows too high and the clear sky that strips itself of all clouds.

They’re the upbeat indie songs playing on the radio as they drive to school, singing along with their hands held on the gear shift. They’re in the light floral-printed shirts, in the chirping of the birds returning after winter, in the flowers peeking through the ground and the smell of honey in the air.

Together, they’re the long afternoon walks, when it’s not too hot or too cold – when they can coordinate wearing their favorite cardigans or they can wear nothing but thin fabrics, depending on their moods. They’re in those afternoons when they meet halfway between their houses and ride together on their bikes, aimlessly, just to be together and breathe in and listen to the sounds of the world and be content, together, watching the lemonade stands on the sidewalk and the children’s shrieks coming from the playground around the corner.

Kurt and Blaine are everything spring holds within it; they’re the comfortable middle, perfectly balanced between the ends of the scale, each receiving something and giving something in return because they want to, because the other’s smile is the most important thing to them. They’re warm when they’re pressed together in the backseat, giggling and giddy and feeling fearless, daring; they’re cold when they sit out on the porch until the sun comes up again, determined to stay up until they talk their issues out; they’re young when they dance between stands in thrift-shops and when they look for Easter eggs with the neighborhood kids, old when they negotiate prices with farmers’ market sellers and when they’re discussing politics around the dinner-table, impressing their parents; they’re everything, because so is spring – it’s unforeseeable and stable and it’s the first ray of sunshine after a long, cold winter, the unshakeable proof that the world keeps turning and that together they can overcome everything, shake off the darkness and step into the light again.

The two of them are spring in the time they first kissed and the time they got engaged, in the way they treat each other and the world when they’re together. They love spring, each for his own reason – but they love spring the most when they’re together, enjoying it with each other.

 

*

 

Neither of them are summer -- but together, they can face anything.

Summer is hot, and they both hate that -- when they’re tangled up together in a sun-bathed bed in the early morning of summer-break, the sheets soft and kicked to the foot of the bed, pressed too close and wound too tight for the temperature. Their bodies are too hot inside and out, almost as if catching on fire, and through Kurt’s bedroom’s window the sun is burning before it’s even noontime; but their mouths exchange warm air between them and the room smells of sex and the house is dead quiet, and they don’t mind.

Summer is sweaty, and they both hate sweat -- but when they shift against each other’s naked bodies, the friction is sweet, and the slide of their skins is easier, hotter, better. Blaine reaches up and tangles his fingers in Kurt’s damp hair, and even the skin of his scalp is sweaty, but Blaine only twists his fingers and swallows Kurt’s moan, and when beads glisten on Blaine’s tanned skin and Kurt presses his lips against them, soft and warm and panting, they don’t mind. Wouldn't mind staying forever. 

Summer is sticky, and they both hate it -- but when they’re wrapped around each other so snugly, Kurt’s knee bent between Blaine’s spread legs and Blaine’s fingers locked behind the small of Kurt’s back, hot skin against hot skin, they can’t let each other go despite the heat rising between them and the their cheeks turning bright red. They can’t possibly know where one ends and where the other begins, pale freckled skin morphing into sun-kissed tan, and when their fingers map each other head to toe, they don’t mind being sticky as much as they thought.

Summertime is when Kurt is forced into shutting his wardrobe door with a heavy sigh, because it’s too hot for two layers, even for him -- and he has to bid his jackets and coats and scarves goodbye until the next autumn with a sunken heart and fantasies of three-layered suits and designers’ knee-high boots. Summertime is when Blaine has to part with his beloved bowties, because his neck goes too hot for the press of the fabric against his throat, and button-ups are hardly still an option.

But summertime, together, is the time to walk hand-in-hand down the street, complaining when the sun is too hot beating against the back of their necks and the flip-flops keep falling off their feet. Summertime is when they share smoothies and milkshakes and ice-cream, watching loud junior-high students with judgemental eyes until they’re laughing when they get dirty and kissing it sweetly off each other’s skin. Summertime is when they can’t go for walks or picnics in the park because it’s just _too hot_ , but it’s when Blaine locks their arms together and spreads a blanket on the sand of the lakeshore, or when Kurt surprises Blaine with a swimming-suit and an invite to the neighborhood pool, or when they stay at home and turn the air-conditioner too-high and cuddle under a fort of blankets and sheets and pillows, and marathon an absurd number of movies and reality TV.

Summer is when they kiss under the July fourth’s fireworks, when they have all the free time in the world because school is out, when they sleep cuddled together and when they lie in the grass of Blaine’s backyard in shorts and tank-tops, looking at the stars.

Kurt and Blaine, together or apart, aren't summer -- but they make the best out of it as it is, because as long as they love each other, the rest of the world truly doesn’t matter.

 


End file.
